There Is a Gun Being Held Against My Head

There is a gun being held against my head,

and its silver surface transfers its cold.

These are dangerous grounds on which I tread.

In the beginning, tears running with dread,

I watched my life fade from glimmering gold.

There is a gun being held against my head.

"Broken and Damaged," the monster said

as the gun cocked in completing its scold.

These are dangerous grounds on which I tread.

Lightening held back as the gun remained dead,

and the trepidation never faded to one of old.

There is a gun being held against my head.

It will remind me for every day ahead

that the bullet is forever prepared to unload.

These are dangerous grounds on which I tread.

In years past, I thought it behind as I fled

from the impending bullet, but I wore a blindfold.

There is a gun being held against my head.

These are dangerous grounds on which I tread.